


One Thousand Days, Ten Thousand More

by EchoVanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, i can write fluff just watch, the first time i haven't fucked them up be proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 00:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11932572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoVanity/pseuds/EchoVanity
Summary: A short little peice about love, hope, peace, safety & forever.In which Harry thinks back over the last 1000 days of their relationship & contemplates the furture with his lover.





	One Thousand Days, Ten Thousand More

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time i have ever not a) killed one of them b) killed both of them c) done pre-slash fighting instead or d) decided to watch them self destruct was more fun.  
> i wrote fluff and i want to die i love them.  
> it's not the best thing i've ever written but it's definitely the sweetest?

Dawn breaks through the bedroom window, bathing Harry and Draco in soft golden light.

Harry, by habit and by neccessity, has long been an early riser, up with the sun. He’s not sure if he counts as a morning person, since he requires at least two cups of coffee , drunk slouching at the kitchen table for an hour, before he feels ready to face the day, but waking early has its benefits. Like the sight of Draco Malfoy, softer and younger in sleep than he has any right to be, his breath gentle and steady, bathed in light, his body twined around Harry’s own.

A thousand days they’ve been together, now. Almost three years, despite everyone who said the two once-bitter enemies turned tentative friends turned lovers could never make it, would never last. Too different, too damaged, too much history, too much fight, too much,too much, too much, they’d said. But even the naysayers couldn’t deny the way the stood taller together; the light shining out of their eyes when they looked at each other; Harry’s hand at Draco’s elbow, always steady; Draco’s arm hovering behind Harry’s back, unwavering in its support. “I’m here,” every touch, every glance seemed to say. “I’m here, and I’m not going to leave.” That they loved each other was clear; that that love could somehow break through almost a decade's worth of bitter history hadn’t been.

Ron, surprisingly shrewd in his own way, had been the one to object the least. When Harry had told him, he’d simply tilted his head to the side and given Harry a look, as if to say "Well, if you must." Ron was loyal in a way deeper that went deeper than blood, forged in fights with trolls and midnight talks and finding the way back to each other, again and again. When Harry had inevitably crashed on Ron's couch during the fights and stormy silences and fists in walls, Ron had never said a word to try and convince him that it was a mistake, that two enemies couldn't really have forever. While Harry ranted, Ron made tea and listened, offering encouragement along with his brand of wry humour, and anecdotes about the most ridiculous fights he and Hermione had had. In the morning, they'd part with backslaps, and everything was right with the world, again. With Draco he teetered between grouchy sarcasm and casual affection; the first time Ron had ever ruffled Draco's hair, and Draco's subsequent look of horror, was a memory that Harry conjured for his Patronous more than once.

Hermione, on the other hand, was a natural born worrier, and though she was tentatively happy for Harry, her buzzing mind couldn't help but launch into a dozen scenarios where the world turned against Harry for his daring to love the enemy, or where Draco was using Harry for selfish gain. Hermione also knew how to hold a grudge better than anyone, and her treatment at the hands of the Slytherins would never fade entirely from her mind. But sometime over the last two years, she and Draco had settled into a comfortable,if occasionally cautious routine, where they would meet once a week to debate and analyse new developments in experimental potions or Arithmancy while drinking single-origin coffee in expensive muggle cafes, or downing Firewhiskeys at hole-in-the-wall gastro pubs. Sometimes they played cards (which Draco won) or darts (which Hermione did). Harry and Ron would occasionally join them, feeling wonderfully stupid and absurdly proud.

A thousand days and hundreds of dinners in high-class restaraunts with the Malfoys or dodgy Muggle diners with the Slytherins as Blaise serenaded blushing waiters and Pansy smirked at the pretty girls swaying in their high heels. A thousand days of Pansy and Hermione giggling over magazines and scowling as the boys raised their brows. A thousand days of Ron and Blaise trouncing each other in chess; of Ginny swinging off Blaise's and Luna's shoulders, their hands entwined; of Pansy being taught to knit by Hermione, blushing as she handed Neville the scarf she'd made; of Ron trying and failing to teach Pansy or Hermione the culinary arts; of Draco and Hermione quietly reading by the fire as the others yelled around them, perfect seas of studious calm; of Harry and Blaise learning to make whiskey; of all of them, these people he loved, sitting together in Grimmauld Place, and knowing they were going to be family, forever.

A thousand days of waking up to golden light on the greyest days. Of warm breath on the back of his neck and cold fingers slipping under the hem of his jumper. The Christmas lights in Draco's hair and the stray flecks of glitter they found on their skin for weeks after their first Muggle Pride. Of soft lips on straining necks and hard hands digging into bony hips. Of soft sheets tangled around ankles, a coffee cup on the window sill, the first time they kissed in the snow, the first "I Love You", the first time one of them left, andall the times they came back. Of park benches and sunsets and sweaty sheets and tea-bags left on the sink and toothpaste flecks on the mirror and tracing scars with lips and loving each other more than they dreamed possible.

A thousand days, and all of them perfect in their own way, even through the inevitable fights, the disastorous cooking attempts (Draco), the even more disastorous attempts at grand romantic gestures (Harry), the coffee cups thrown at walls, the awkward outings with each others friends, the tears and the kisses to try and make the _acheacheache_ of living through a war disappear for just a while. Last Christmas, when Molly knitted Draco his first Weasley sweater, which he wore all winter. Harry’s 20th birthday, when Narcissa caught him as he was leaving to just- _hold_ him, and tell him she was so proud of her sons. He’d cried later, Draco draped over his back. Cried for the family he lost, and the family he found, against all the odds.

A thousand days so far, and how many more days to come? Days where Lucius will look at his son in awe when he steps out of prison; when Harry will hold Draco's hand so tightly it bruises as Teddy leaves for Hogwarts; days where they'll hold their first born and cry, marvelling that such fragile beauty can even exist. Days where the past will sit like a shroud on their shoulders and they won't be able to bear the sight of each other. Days where the only sight they'll be able to bear is each other, and they'll lie in bed all day, tracing reassurances on each other's skin. Days where the weight of coffee cups and blankets and warm breath will outweigh the ghosts. Days where Draco will find his first grey hair and cry, part in horror and part in relief; days when Harry realises he is older than his parents' age combined; where they decide to be ridiciculous, and travel the world on a whim, chasing the sun.

Dawn breaks and Harry wakes, watching his love in the light, and thinks of one thousand days, of family, of hope, of happiness he never thought he'd live to see. Thinks of one thousand days, and all the thousands of days left to come.  
Thinks of love like forever, caught in the breath between the sun spilling over his face and Draco opening his eyes to say, "Morning, love. Ready for the day?"  
And as Harry kisses him, their smiles stretch til it's more teeth than tongue, and this, this, this, is _forever_.


End file.
